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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642590">things might wind up but they always unravel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyRose/pseuds/BettyRose'>BettyRose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:47:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettyRose/pseuds/BettyRose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark has given up on the notion of true knights. So has Gendry Baratheon, former Knight of the Hollow Hill, who swore an oath to fight for justice and protect the innocent. Sansa’s not sure what to make of a headstrong blacksmith who claims to be a Baratheon lord, who owes his new status to Daenerys Targaryen. Gendry is both amused and annoyed to meet a woman just as stubborn as he is. How unfortunate that business keeps bringing them together, in the wake of the Battle of Winterfell and the preparations for a midwinter celebration. Title is from the Johnny Flynn song, “The Lady is Risen.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sansa Stark/Gendry Waters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>things might wind up but they always unravel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>We wanted to write a nice little Sandry Christmas series, because we really love the characters and think they have interesting parallels. In this universe, Arya and Gendry were not an item. Our fancasts for Sansa and Gendry are Daisy Ridley in “Ophelia” and Dev Patel in the “Green Knight.”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p><em>Tell me where have the saints gone, oh where is the pull </em><br/><em>Are they flourished in times that were guarded with wool </em><br/><em>You know limbless they marched till they fell off the map </em><br/><em>Are you sick of them falling like crumbs on your lap? </em><br/><em>You once told me that this isn't all that there is </em><br/><em>And the band started up and the lady is risen. </em><br/><em>You know life isn't always like the end of your novels </em><br/><em>All things might wind up but they always unravel</em><br/>("The Lady is Risen" by Johnny Flynn)</p>
</blockquote><p>All debts must be settled before the New Year, that was Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully’s custom. Sansa Stark had started taking accounts in Winterfell the morning after the Flayed Man was taken from the ramparts of the castle, knowing that such things invariably take more time than expected. The granaries had to be inventoried, as must the armories, the fulleries, the breweries, the livestock of the common. Soldiers and watchmen and kitchen boys and housekeepers must have their wages. She cribbed her balance sheet from her lady mother’s of years past, but she was required to create many additional pages. While she too had to tote up the costs of linen and chickens and pewter and oranges and tallow and mead and hinges and parchment and wood and feathers, there was a sheaf of costs unknown to Sansa’s childhood: steel, dragonglass, mercenaries, victuals for an army of Unsullied. War was expensive, Sansa could tell you down to the pence. And she needed to consider all the debts of the North: the lords who had aided their liege Jon Snow in coin or men. Some snapped at her heels like dogs. Others claimed she owed them naught to fulfill their duty, and she swallowed her pride and thanked them prettily, while saving the records for a day when some lord’s son ascends and his councilors beseech, “What, no payment from Winterfell?” After all, she, too, had to go trotting after the Northmen assembled in her hall to collect whatever was owed. It was a common scene to see the Lady of Winterfell with her clerk jogging at her elbow, as she called at the back of some surly Northman, <em> do not forget what you had pledged to me instead of fighting men, see, here, I have it set down in ink from two months past </em>. There was still never enough money, not even when she turned the castle upside down and shook it to see what wealth might fall out. Sansa was keenly aware that their castle’s foundation was no longer in the solidity of coin, but in the twin fictions of credit and noble goodwill. Her eyes and head were sore-strained from long nights with a candle and quill, trying to work the castle that moved about her into a castle that worked properly on parchment.</p><p>Therefore Sansa was pleased to find that Lord Gendry Baratheon, a man unexpected in every aspect, was able with a balance sheet.</p><p>“It’s a mess,” he still conceded, showing her a rough ledger. “Milady, you understand I had bigger problems than the books, lately. Didn’t order much, but didn’t charge for nothing, so.”</p><p>“Well, of course you’ll be recompensed,” she muttered absently, as her finger trailed along the columns. “How much of this can you honestly say is to outfit the Targaryens?” She could wring Daenerys Targaryen’s neck for burning the treasures of Highgarden in the Lannister wagon trail. Just one silver-plated dinner service could have outfitted a section of pikemen in full winter apparel.</p><p>“The Unsullied had their own plate. But I made dragonglass spears for the officers, and some of her commanders. Hang on, I’ve got notes on who got what somewhere,” he muttered, rummaging in a drawer. “Er, my prentice wrote these, but he read ‘em back and it sounded right. Milady.” He handed her an even rougher list. She squinted at the names, in the unfamiliar parlance of the Unsullied, alongside phonetic approximations of Valyrian names.</p><p>“The Queen’s people will say they supplied the raw material, but draw up a fair number for the labor,” she instructed him. “Fair for… The best shop on the street of steel, if such a shop charged fair prices. Is dragonglass harder to shape than steel- no matter, I don’t need to know how you calculate it, so long as it doesn’t make me look like a fool.”</p><p>“I’ll give you a range, milady,” he said thoughtfully, looking over a rack of jagged dragonglass knives. “Can bring that over to your folks soon as I’ve toted it up.”</p><p>“Mm. Do ask for Gwyn Murdoch, my lord,” she added. Her eyes skimmed down his profile in the low light of the forge. How like Renly he looked, but not quite Renly. He had the same handsome grin and bright cleverness behind the blue Baratheon eye, but with none of the sour edge of a lord’s false smile. And of course, there was the matter of his skin, copper-colored like his mother’s must have been. If he were a prince, she imagines he would wear a deep golden jerkin, dyed with weld and edged in flat black braid at the collar and cuffs. He would not need more ornamentation than that.</p><p>She quickly looked back to his figures, embarrassed by her long silence. “He’s not likely to detain you long,” she murmurs, “You being a proper shopkeeper- I mean- my lord, I meant no offense- only to commend you for your accounting.”</p><p>“Ha. I’ve tried my best, always was better at figures than letters, milady. And no, I’m not offended, handling a forge is something I’ve <em> learned </em>, something I’m good at. That means more than who my father was, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Well-said, my lord,” Sansa said softly. She had not known what to expect of this blacksmith lord, only that Arya swore he was like a brother to her on the Kingsroad. Sansa trusted no one, especially none elevated by the Targaryen, but liked his candor. She reminded herself that another errand had brought her to the forge. “Clearly, you are a man of good character and noble bearing, whether you wear a blacksmith’s apron or a Baratheon’s colors. I take it you have had neither the time nor the inclination to outfit your person and your servants for the Yuletide feast. King Jon has sent me to see you are properly attired for the feast.”</p><p>“... What?”<br/>“Is that unclear? You’re a Baratheon, we’re Starks, it would be good to remind people of it.” She folded her arms. “You have no formal clothing. Many of our guests here at Winterfell arrived prepared only for battle. The King of the North would not see our southern lords shamed to be underdressed at the feast. My lord.”</p><p>“Oh, I…. alright?” Amused, he glanced down at his singed clothing. She blushed at the thought of taking the measure of his broad shoulders, then cursed herself for being so strange and distracted today. She must send one of her ladies to do it. A married woman of some age, so there could be no gossip.</p><p>“We will be proud to welcome you to Winterfell in a time of joy, not war,” she added. “Not battle, anyway.” For the war was just beginning between the two women claiming to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. There was a time when she had been in line for that title, herself. Now, it was only a fantasy-- but still on her mind.</p><p>“Then I’d be glad to contribute,” he said carefully.</p><p>“Gratis, my lord.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I don’t have money-- but if I can help with anything?”</p><p>“I imagine my lady sister may press-gang you into the mummer’s play,” she confessed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.</p><p>“She would,” he sighed. She laughed.</p><p>“Arya Underfoot, we called her. When she was a child.” He was an easy man to talk to, and soon they were gossiping like girls at a village fair. He’d not known she was the one to order the leather to cover armor at the battle of Winterfell. When he praised her for her practicality, her face glowed warm. When she complimented his ingenious method of organizing the production of dragonglass spear tips, he scratched the back of his head and said it was the work of the whole workshop.</p><p>She realized she had spent far more time than she’d planned going through the inventory of the forge, solely because Lord Baratheon shared her simple pleasure in a task done well. </p><p>“I- anyway, I’ll send someone to handle the clothing, and I’m sure Arya will tell you all her schemes.”</p><p>“You are very kind, my lady,” he said with startling sincerity. “The people say you’re just and fair, as a queen should be.” Though he wore an easy smile, his eyes were cool and sharp, and there was a treasonous undercurrent to his words.</p><p>“You can’t say things like that,” she replied quickly. </p><p>“Why not?” he said, folding his arms.</p><p>“You don’t understand-”</p><p>“Because I’m a bastard, or because I’m not learned?” He was still smiling, but there was a cruel twist to it, and her face burned far more unpleasantly. How she loathed to be misunderstood. Of course he would think she was a spoilt little princess, wouldn’t he? He was no different from other men who saw a young lady and assumed she was putting on airs.</p><p>“This isn’t about <em> you </em> , milord, it’s about someone <em> else </em> ,” she says pointedly. “I meant to offer you good advice, I see you do not need any counsel. I’m going, and pretending you didn’t say anything other than <em> good morrow </em> .” She curtseyed, heart pounding, and swept off without waiting for a reply. Surely he would forgive her impoliteness if she could ignore his remark and his rudeness. He still had a great deal to learn about being a lord, particularly a lord in the <em> court </em> of a queen. Regardless, she felt embarrassed to have spoken sharply. Septa Unella had always told her not to be so sharp. A lady should never lose her temper.</p><p>He was probably inartfully expressing a compliment-- after all, all the women of the Seven Kingdoms should aspire to follow the model of their Queen. She doubted that, but-- were she on the stand, that’s what she would say.</p><p>As she walked through Wintertown, she thought on what a strange world it was. Only a few years ago, she had been betrothed to a Lannister bastard, contracted to the “Baratheon” heir. Now his replacement was everything Joffrey was not-- dark, coarse, hot-tempered, base-born, yet also brave, thoughtful, and honorable, according to Arya. Arya had told her that Gendry Baratheon had been a Knight of the Hollow Hill. Some called them little more than bandits, but the smallfolk called them heroes. Of<em> course </em> Jon and Daenerys loved him for that. Sansa was not so quick to trust anyone. Now she thought him entirely unpleasant. A coarse man like his father, whether he wore flax or fine-spun wool. And if he kept good accounts, or flattered her (and Jon, Arya, and perhaps Daeneys, too) in conversation, that was neither here nor there. Had she learned nothing? <em> Do not let a man know your true heart. Do not be deceived by a charming face. Take not sustenance from the esteem of others. </em> She squared her shoulders and returned to her work and resolved to no longer think about Lord Baratheon at all.</p>
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